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beauty-and-passion · 4 years ago

Note

So, I just finished reading the fanfiction that you recommended and now I look forward to new ones, so if you know something else to read please let me know.

I’m finally here! It took me a lot of time to find new works to suggest - and not because I’m lacking material. I’m still following a lot of works, but I don’t want to suggest unfinished fictions, so I had to see their endings before deciding if they were good or bad. So they won’t happer now, but they can always have a place in Recommendation part 3 (that will come out when someone will ask me again in the future):

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Apologies by Fangirlwriting

This fiction is about Thomas having an abusive relationship and how it affected every Side. Janus is the only one still lucid enough to realize there’s something wrong in this relationship and we follow him in his “quest” to save all Sides - quest that will final lead to Thomas leaving his abuser.

The pace of the story is amazing, there’s this sense of “doing this before it’s too late”, all while following Janus around and rooting for him.

And some choices are GREAT. Logan isn’t locked in his room “because of the plot”, but it makes sense. Just like Virgil’s reaction when Janus talks with him. And all the Sides’ reactions are so realistic it really gives you a nice feeling.

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Cold Comfort by storytellerontheside

A great story about Janus realizing what the Core Sides’ issues are, working to help them and then... well, up to you to see it. Spoiler: it broke my heart in tiny little pieces, then put them together one by one.

Some ideas are absolutely amazing and left me utterly delighted. The idea about Logan’s room is the most innovative, painful and logic you can imagine and I loved it with all my heart. The Roman chapter is great as well. And the Remus one is both adorable and oh so painful oh such good pain ow my heart.

In other words: if you want to suffer, but in a satisfying way, read this. The style is good, the ideas are good and everything is pain, but you’ll love it.

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Three Minutes Less by Fangirlwriting

Oh, I definitely won’t forget this story so easily. This will probably be stuck in a corner of my mind for a long while, because I absolutely adored it.

The plot is as simple as it looks: Roman dies and a demon offers Remus the chance to come back in time to save his brother. But every time he comes back, Remus loses 30 minutes of his life.

Do you think it’s a race-against-the-clock story, with ideas and plans and how we will focus on every little detail... but no. There’s also this, but it’s first of all a psychological story. And not Roman’s, but Remus’ psychology. The thoughts, the questions he asks, his way of thinking, there’s a lot here. And a lot of regret and sadness too - and yes, there’s also the race against time. But there are also some powerful chapters and scenes. Like the mall scene (it’s so powerful, I love it) and Remus’ conversations about death and leaving something behind... wow. Just wow. That’s truly a great story.

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Humility's A Sin by Ptolomeia

Awesome in everything. Plot? Awesome. Writing style? Awesome. Pace of the story? Awesome. Pain? Awesome. Solution? Awesome. Roman? A hero. (seriously, I LOVED Roman in this story. That’s probably my favourite Roman) Janus? Another hero, but also a moron. Just to give you the idea: while reading the last chapters, I was crying and laughing at the same time.

Long story short: there are problems, of course. And Roman ducks out. His decision starts a cascade effect, that leads to all Sides being involved in this rescue mission, with a side dish of angst, more angst, the best kind of angst (especially with Patton. Ah, such perfect angst). But also King Creativity angst - and used in the best way.

It’s not like you should read this. It’s you MUST read this, because this is so good and satisfying, it’s absolutely worth the time spent.

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The Other Side of the Mirror by Frejennix and Lalijinx

Techinically this isn’t a story, but a collection of one shots/short fanfictions and they’re all closed, so it technically counts as both “on work” and “finished” at the same time.

And this series is AMAZING. The concept is very simple: the Dark Sides and the Core Sides switch places. So we have Thomas with Janus, Virgil and Remus as Core Sides and he’s slowly learning about his Dark Sides.

Logan is the first one to be introduced and we’re learning to understand him, to know him better - just like Janus, Virgil and Remus are. There are a lot of hints about what will happen and it’s clear there’s a big plot planned.

The single fanfictions are very good. The writing style works, the rhythm is interesting, the characters are great. It’s a very nice way to spend some time - and a great series to follow!

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Flores Facets by Whiskey_With_Patron

After The Other Side of the Mirror couldn’t left out the second important series I’m following. And this is SO. CUTE. It’s basically Sanders Sides, but from Nico’s pov. And we know his Sides. And, just like Thomas’ Sides, they’re full of issues. Of course. Especially Heart, but for a comprehensible reason. There are only four parts until now, but it’s starting to emerge a bigger plot, with possible dark sides and future names for every Side.

In addition to that, Nico isn’t just “the pretty boy”. We see him struggling with the aftermath of his last relationship, with his feelings for Thomas, with his desire to become a writer. Every shot is a nice addition to the series, it’s well written and it’s a nice way to spend some time while reading something good.

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With A Door Between Them by rosesisupposes

After POF, Janus tries to talk to Roman. Simple as that.

But compared to many others stories, in which they start to profusely apologize and it’s all Good Feelings TM, here it’s... a conversation. They talk about a lot of stuff and it has a nice flow. It never sounds like it’s forced or they’s just following a script. One of the best ways to let them handle their issues.

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Fitting Pieces by Haley3

Who is she? Never heard of her~

Okay, I wrote this. It’s an Intrulogical, that means there’s Remus and Remus doing Remus things. But there’s also Logan being the absolute nerd he is. And they both have amnesia, so they should find a way to get their memories back. But all they have is a tiny little dice.

If you want to give it a try, be my guest.

Or you don’t like Intrulogical and you prefer to read something about the Dark Sides being a family, with special focus on the relationship between Janus and Virgil? I have In te, Domine, speravi - In you, Lord, I have hoped that gives you an insight on them, through Janus’ memories (real and fake ones). All of this with a side dish of religious references.

I know, I’m shamelessly promoting myself.

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Morbid Fascination by alicat54c

Last but not least, a great work from my beloved.

It’s an Intrulogical and you have the best of both wooorlds. Logan’s character is exactly like in the series: cold, unable to truly understand his feelings (or common slang words), yet fascinated by Remus and stubborn enough to keep hanging out with him despite everything.

Remus is amazingly creepy. His room is even creepier. Everything about him screams creepy, morbid, like a swamp monster fused with a boogey man. I loved the idea of crawling under your bed to reach Remus’ place. And I loved even more how Logan managed to demonstrate (by using the scientific method) how useful Remus is.

Special mention to Janus, because he’s also so damn creepy and I loved it so, so much.

In other words: do you like creepy stuff? Do you want to read something with huge creepy vibes, great ideas and amazing characters? This is the perfect story for you.

#sanders sides #ask #fiction recommendation #it took me an eternity #but finally more stuff #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders

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nureyevv · 5 years ago

Text

This job was supposed to be easy. That’s why Buddy had put him out in the field in the first place, right? He wasn’t as experienced as Jet in these things, but they’d said it’d be good practice for when the real work began. They just needed some cushion creds-- it was the perfect opportunity to acclimate him to the life of crime.

It was the exact sort of thing Juno would have normally refused to take part in. He wouldn't steal just to steal, certainly not from innocent people, but it just so happened their mark today was a double decker asshole. The Diamond Dame Casino, just off Saturn, was notorious for attracting the worst kind of people. Juno had never been fond of casinos anyway. He couldn't understand how someone could make a living off of other people’s addictions and still sleep soundly at night. The Diamond Dame was a whole different brand of nasty, though. It was a known location among criminals to make dirty deals without risk of being caught, and at the head of it all was a man by the name of Dallas Olson. He’d inherited the business from his father and had been inadvertently running the place into the ground ever since.

See, the issue with raising a kid around some of the worst spenders this side of Venus was that, more often than not, they don’t shape up to be the best with money. Olson’s bank account said he was in debt to just about every person he’d ever met, and a man like Olson met a lot of dangerous people. Normally, a guy like that would be a thief’s jackpot-- no pun intended. The only issue was that, 90% of the time Olson didn’t even know when he would be making out checks. Most days he tried to put it off until someone pulled a knife on him and he was forced to find some creds then and there. No robber worth his name (or lack thereof) would take a job with that kind of uncertainty.

At least, that was what Nureyev-- or Glass-- had told Juno when he asked why Olson had yet to be robbed blind.

They would have passed Olson by, too, if it wasn’t for the tip Buddy got. It was incredibly vague; all it told them was that Olson was making a repayment today. They didn’t know who he was repaying, how much he owed, or when it would happen. Juno had almost deemed it a lost cause when Vespa had spoke up: “They’re just giving us money at this point, Bud.”

Apparently, when you had a spaceship with four master criminals, a hacker that couldn’t be beat, and an ex-detective, nothing was impossible.

So, they set the stage. Vespa, Rita, and Jet would stay on the ship. Jet would be at the wheel, waiting for one of two orders: get us the fuck out of here or open fire. Rita would handle the tech-- get them into The Diamond Dame’s security system. Vespa would be in charge of monitoring the live footage, watching out for possible threats and keeping the operation in line. Buddy and Pe-- Rex were out in the casino, stationed by each of the exits. When they got word of who it was they’d be robbing, they’d be the ones doing the dirty work.

That was where Juno came in. His role was simple enough: figure out who it was that was walking out with their paycheck.

At least, it sounded simple enough. Then he actually got to the casino, with all its flashing lights and chiming slot machines. Juno could hardly think straight as it was, and there were so many people, more than he’d ever imagined. Being observant, picking one oddity out of a crowd, that was supposed to be his whole thing. He had to at least be decent at it if he was able to make a living off it for all those years, and yet… he had a bad feeling about this.

He couldn’t focus, and if he couldn’t focus there was no way he’d be able to pull this off. Still, he couldn’t tell the rest of them why he was so distracted because his big distraction was one of them. Whatever name he called him, Peter Nureyev, Rex Glass, or tonight’s specialty, Orion Krum, he couldn’t push that man from his mind. They hadn’t talked since their first encounter in the martian desert, not really. Every time Juno tried to catch him alone, to explain or apologize, or something, Nureyev always slipped away in the way only he could. It was obvious he didn’t want anything to do with Juno.

Juno didn’t blame him for it either. He left, and Nureyev moved on, even if Juno couldn’t say the same for himself. Just watch the crowd, Steel.

From his spot at one of the slot machines he examined a few groups. There was one gaggle of wealthy looking women who were far too drunk to be there on official business. Juno crossed them off a mental suspect list. He caught sight of one suspicious looking man dressed in a particularly showy black gown and for a moment he thought he might be onto something.

A moment later another man arrived in a similar sneaking fashion and Juno was right back to square one. The only thing those two were guilty of was an affair. His eyes continued to trace the crowds until he caught sight of that face again.

Stars, that face.

Peter didn’t look like himself tonight. His usual warm colors had been replaced with a deep blue, suit, speckled with silver like the night sky. He wore none of his signature makeup or jewelry, but his expression said he didn’t need it when he had a face like that. He looked like the kind of man that, if Juno had spotted him back on Mars, he would have avoided at all costs: arrogant, rich, and cold.

And, simultaneously, he looked like an undercover thief Juno really wanted to take back to his room after all of this was through.

He shook the thought from his mind almost as soon as it entered. He needed to move. Maybe a new vantage point would show him something he couldn’t see from here, or at least block out someone he very much could--

As he stood up from his machine he only narrowly avoided walking straight into someone. Juno stumbled backwards a few steps and was just about to apologize when he saw the man in front of him. He recognized that blonde hair and pointed nose from Vespa’s lectures. Dallas Olson.

He was young, Juno might have even said handsome if he didn’t dim in comparison to another nearby face. “Apologies, madame,” he said in a thick accent Juno couldn’t quite place, “I didn't mean to startle you.”

Juno inhaled deeply and tried to remember who he was. Tonight, his name was Renee Bruner, a lady with too much free time and enough creds on hand to find plenty of ways to entertain himself. The dress Buddy had provided him made him look the part, long and tight fit, made of a brilliant magenta silk, but he still had to sound like Renee, too.

“No harm done,” he said with a breezy, somewhat bored smile. “You know how it is after you’ve had a few.”

Olson nodded in agreement and extended a hand out to him. Internally, Juno’s stomach dropped. He’d hoped this encounter would be short and sweet. “It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. My names Dallas Olson. I’m the owner of this establishment.”

Juno took his hand and shook it. “Renee. It’s quite the place you got here.”

“Aw, you’re too kind,” he replied with fake humility. “This may seem a bit odd, but I was wondering if you might do me a favor?”

Juno felt the hair on his arms prickle. “I suppose it depends on the request.”

Olson smiled gingerly. “But of course,” he answered with a slick kind of charm Juno only liked on one man. “My hope was that, if you agreed, you could introduce me to that gentleman behind you.”

Juno didn’t need to look to see who Olson was gesturing at. He looked anyway. Sure enough, Nureyev stood there, pretending to be properly entertained. The tenseness in his jaw said he knew he was being watched.

Juno didn’t know how Olson had managed to put together that they knew each other. They’d been so careful, coming in separate entrances and staying away from one another. Had they received bad intel? Was Olson on to them? Should they call a quits now--

“You… do know one another, yes?” asked Olson, and Juno was relieved to hear the doubt in his voice. So he didn’t know anything for sure. They could work with that. “I simply assumed with the way you have been looking at him that you were acquainted. I like to associate myself with all my new guests, and I had not seen your faces before…”

Dammit, he chided himself. He’d given himself away. If he’d been obvious enough that Olson had spotted him then he was sure Nureyev already knew too. Couldn’t he go two seconds without making a fool of himself?

Something about this situation definitely stunk. Olson wanted to talk to them for a reason, and Juno knew it wasn’t just good business practice. He was nervous, that much Juno could tell by the perspiration in their handshake, but he didn’t know why. At least, not yet.

It was time to change his approach. It’d be more suspicious to flat out deny knowing Peter now, and besides, trying to find their mark without a lead wasn’t going anywhere.

“No, no, you’re right. That’s my husband,” he said and braced himself.

“Steel,” he heard Vespa’s voice in his ear, “this is not the plan.”

Near by, Nureyev had heard the exact same conversation. He would just have to make it part of the plan.

Juno smiled and ignored her, keeping his attention on Olson. “I’ll bring you over now, just let me grab my bag.”

“Of course,” nodded Olson.

Juno moved to the side of the machine he’d been sitting at and grabbed a purple purse. Quiet enough Olson wouldn’t hear it, Juno muttered, “Just play along, alright?”

Gesturing at Olson to follow, Juno led him over to Nureyev as Vespa complained. If Peter was caught off guard he didn’t show it. Juno knew this was a role he could play. It was familiar for both of them, and a bit nostalgic. The only thing Juno had severely underestimated was how much it would hurt to pretend to be his again.

“Hello, love,” said Juno a bit awkwardly. He was learning he really hated undercover work. “I want to introduce you to the owner, Mr. Olson.”

Peter, unlike Juno, never let his disguise falter. It amazed Juno, but then again, maybe that was just what twenty years of practice looked like. His eyes were still ice cold, but he quickly adapted to the new information. He slid an arm around Juno’s waist and pulled him close, eyes still glued to Olson. It was protective but not loving. In other words, it was completely in character.

Juno hoped he didn’t notice how he shivered at his touch and seemed to flourish in the safety of Nureyev’s torso. It still felt so natural.

“Orion Krum. I hope my wife hasn’t caused too much trouble,” said Nureyev.

For a reason Juno couldn’t understand, Olson seemed to get more pale the longer he looked at them. “Not at all!” he said with unconvincing enthusiasm, “I had asked him to introduce us. I must say, though, he seems much happier now that he’s with you. His expression earlier was quite distressed.”

What was his game? If he didn’t know who they were, why was he so invested in them? Juno was trying to put the pieces together. They were missing something but he didn’t know what. Olson was scared, but of what? The answer tugged at the back of his mind and Juno tried to pull it free. He almost had it when Nureyev spoke and broke his concentration.

For the first time in the night, Peter, or rather Orion, was looking at him. There was something in his eyes, though, something that hadn’t been there earlier and made Juno’s heart do a somersault. There was something coy about that look that wasn’t like the character he was playing tonight. Peter Nureyev was peaking through. “Is that true? Were you feeling left out?” Then, noticing his error he added a cool: “then don’t wander off next time.”

That smugness… It felt like being teased by the Peter who loved him, all those months ago. Juno was caught off guard. “I, uh, Nur--”

Before he could say something that couldn’t be unsaid, Peter cut him off. Before Juno knew it Peter’s lips were on his and anything he was planning to say was forgotten. It was effective, that’s for sure. A one hit KO that was over almost as soon as it began.

Peter pulled away. It was barely a peck on the lips, just enough to fluster Juno while not being too uncalled for. Afterwards he turned his attention back to their new friend while Juno was left properly flustered. “Well then. We’ve met, my wife has been returned. Now we’ll be on our way, unless you had some further plan for my time.”

The prickly facade was back. Peter Nureyev had been shoved back inside, and while Juno had much preferred it to the emotionless creature he was imitating now, Olson looked… chipper. The color was back in his face and his smile was unsettling to say the least. It looked like they’d just fallen into whatever trap Olson had set, but Juno didn’t know how.

Something was about to go very wrong. He turned to Peter and tried to get a warning out before it was too late. “This isn’t right, we have to--”

Suddenly, Juno was ripped away and Peter’s comforting presence was gone. In its place was blaster and Olson’s iron grip.

Oh, thought Juno. This explains a lot.

One arm was up against his throat, keeping him from escaping. The barrel of the blaster was digging into his skull, and he wasn’t planning on risking his brains in a struggle. He was facing Nureyev, whose face Juno couldn’t read: shock, anger, fear? Or maybe nothing at all.

“Juno!” said Vespa’s stern voice in his head.

“Verona,” called Olson at someone Juno couldn’t quite see. “This kind man here will be providing you your payment.”

Nureyev raised an eyebrow in his direction. “And why would I do that?”

The answer was obvious enough, though, at least to Juno. Olson had finally dug himself into a hole he couldn’t climb back out of, but he wasn’t about to give in. He had plenty of unknowing customers with the kind of spending money he needed. Olson was smart enough to find an out and desperate enough to risk it all.

All he had to do was find an unsuspecting soul stupid enough to fall into his trap with something more than money to lose. Leverage. He’d almost done it, too, but their was one big problem. The most expensive thing he or Nureyev had on them was the clothes on their backs. No wonder Juno couldn’t figure out who had the check-- there wasn’t a check to begin with.

“Well, if you’d like to keep your wife’s brain in-tact, I would highly recommend giving Ms. Verona whatever she asks,” drawled Olson. Juno really hoped Peter was as concerned with his safety as Olson thought. Around them, heads turned. A few people looked nervous at the sight of the scene before them, but most just turned a blind eye. Olson let a lot of dirty business slip by unnoticed. It wasn’t difficult to return the favor.

“What makes you think I care about all that?” asked Nureyev with that signature nonchalance. He was playing some kind of angle. That didn’t make it sting any less.

Verona shot Olson a look that said he was supposed to have this under control. Panic flashed over his features but he was quick to compose himself. It seemed like the bullet in Juno’s head wouldn’t be the only shot fired if this deal fell through.

“Don’t play games. It's the money or his life,” growled Olson at Nureyev.

“Glass, Juno,” ordered Vespa, “get out of there!”

Juno thought that was easier said than done when there was a gun to your head. They were at a disadvantage-- even if they might have been able to take Olson and Verona in a fight, any sudden movements and he might end up with a hole in his head. They could try to stall until Buddy arrived, but Juno had no clue where she was or if she’d be able to do anything before Olson lost his patience. They had to act alone.

He looked to Nureyev, equal parts indignant and afraid. To Juno, it was still obvious he was in character. That’s right, he thought, we still have the element of surprise.

Juno didn’t know what his plan was, but he knew Nureyev had one. Nureyev always had a plan. So, without thinking it through, he played along.

“Orion,” he said, voice small, “I’m sorry I wandered off before I won’t do it again-- just, just get me out of here. Please. Just give them what they want.

Nureyev sighed. “Fine. What do you want.”

Verona spoke up now. “Ten thousands creds.”

“You’d have to be a fool to carry that kind of money on you!” Peter protested.

“Then give me the passcode to you fucking bank account, then,” Verona snapped back. She was getting irritated, though not entirely at Nureyev. It seemed she was under the impression Olson had a more reliable way of paying her back.

Peter caught his eyes. Did you see that, they seemed to ask, and of course Juno did. The private eye in him was already putting two and two together. She was the weak link. She was their escape route. “Hurry up, Krum,” said Olson through gritted teeth.

Peter chewed his lip. “I will, but there is a… slight complication.”

“What? What could possibly be the problem now?” demanded Verona.

“I’m a busy man-- I don’t have time to track all my expenses and banking, that’s what having a secretary is for.”

“And?”

Peter looked at her like it was obvious. “I don’t know my passcode.”

Juno nearly laughed. Their plan was to annoy Verona into snapping, and Peter was damn good at it. The mirth was, unfortunately, short lived.

Verona shook with rage. Juno thought it was entirely possible she might just combust then and there, and for a moment Juno was terrified they’d miscalculated. He couldn’t help but fear that, when she lashed out, she’d go straight for Nureyev’s throat.

The idea of it was enough to make him feel like he was going to be ill.

And then Verona spun on Olson. “Dammit, Olson, you said you had the money and you’re gonna get it for me. No more games.”

“I will, just wait, please, a few moments more,” sputtered Olson. “They have the creds we just have to--”

“We?” She cut in. “I don’t have to do anything, understand? You owe me. I said I was done playing. You either have what you owe me or you don’t. So what’s the answer?”

On cue, Juno heard the distinct click of a blaster’s safety being turned off, and he got the impression it wasn’t set to stun. A large man stood behind Olson in all black, eyes fixed on Verona. One word from her and his target would be dead.

This was their chance. In his fear, Olson’s grip loosened and his aim wavered. Juno took the moment to slip away, over to Nureyev. The two of them had been almost completely forgotten.

Nureyev’s hands were on his shoulders, sturdy and strong. Juno might have even thought protective if he didn’t know better. The taller man tried to lead him away from all of this so they could make their escape. They could disappear before anyone even noticed they were gone, but…

“Drop the gun, Olson,” instructed Verona. The blonde man whimpered, reserved to his fate, and tossed it at the floor where it clattered at their feet. At Juno’s feet.

No one was supposed to die here. Not even double decker assholes.

“Juno,” Nureyev said at his side, tugging at him now. “We need to go before people start shooting--”

Juno was moving before he could even think of the consequences. He dove for the blaster and shifted the dial to stun. Around him he heard voices, Verona yelling orders, Vespa shouting in his ear, Peter, the real Peter’s, fearful “Wait--.” He blocked it all out.

They were all close to him, he should have been able to hit them, but without the THEIA he was never one hundred percent sure. Three shots, just three shots.

Bang. The first beam went straight into the armed man’s chest. He crumpled to the floor.

Bang. The second shot was for Verona, and he only barely hit the mark. Just in time, too. By the way her hand had gone for her pocket she’d been looking to grab a blaster of her own. He made contact with her shoulder, and though she tried to stay conscious she followed her minion to ground.

Juno took a breath before firing for the third and last time. Olson gaped at him. “Wh--”

Bang. He didn't get to finish before Juno blasted him in the gut.

People were starting to panic now. Threats were one thing, but actually shooting to host was another. Before the chaos could close in, Nureyev grabbed his hand and they were running.

They busted through the casino doors, the cool night air hitting them like pool water on a summer day. “Your aim is getting quite good, detective.”

Juno glanced up at Peter and was met with a smile. A genuine one, at that. “Ah, well,” he answered, sheepishly. He hoped the darkness would hide his blush.

“Yea, he’s a fuckin’ natural,” growled Vespa over their earpiece. “It’d be awful nice if he was as skilled at following directions.

“Oh, don’t be honorary,” chided Nureyev. How was it that he could keep up this pace and not be at least a bit winded. “This job would have failed no matter what Juno did. No reason to place blame.”

“But Glass, I’d hardly call it a failure.” The voice speaking them now belonged to Buddy. Juno had almost forgotten she’d been in the casino all together.

“That so?” he asked between strained breaths. “Where did you go during all that? I nearly died!”

“Spare me the dramatics, Juno, you two had it completely under control. I figured if we weren’t going to get our creds from Olson I might as well tamper with the machines a bit. You wouldn’t believe what kind of money people put in those things.”

At his side, Nureyev’s grin widened at the thought of their loot. “Very clever, as always, Ms. Aurinko. I believe I see you now. You’ll have to show us what you picked up when we get there.”

Sure enough, they’d crested a hill and below, at the very bottom of the incline, was the ship. It was only then that Nureyev slowed his pace.

He met Juno’s eyes, lifted a hand to his ear, and shut off his communication device. Juno didn’t know why, exactly, but he repeated the motion anyway.

Nureyev seemed to blend into the night, his skin the only glowing contrast to the deep navy around them. He looked good, but then again, he always looked good.

There was a momentary silence between them, then: “You know, I’d like to believe you meant what you said back there.”

Juno searched his face for hints but found none. He had said a lot of things in the casino, most of them in the hopes of not getting killed. He didn’t have the slightest idea which one Peter was referencing now.

“I’m… not sure I follow.”

The dark haired man nodded, as if he’d expected that. “You said you wouldn’t wander off again, Juno. I hope that’s the truth this time. I hate to admit it, but each time I lose you I find it a bit more difficult to move on.”

The smile was still present on Peter’s face, but it was distant and sad. His gaze was somewhere else entirely. The ice from the evening’s alias had melted away and Juno was left with someone he recognized. Someone he loved.

“Yea… Yea I think I know how you feel,” answered Juno, “but, if it means anything, I think it is. True, I mean. At least, I want it to be.”

They were close now, and there were still a million unsaid things between them. Peter only said one of them, though.

“I suppose I’ll just have to trust you, then.”

And really, Juno couldn’t have imagined anything better than that.

#i hope you all know i died writing this #it aint original and it aint good but i still died ok #pls... i crave validation... pls love me #the penumbra podcast #tpp #juno steel #peter nureyev #jupeter #buddy aurinko #vespa ai #jet siquliak #rita tpp #my writing #gosh i hope people actually like this

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ur4evagurl · 4 years ago

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Me and Myself (A Ride with Me To Hell )

I feel like I am floating in my own head, drifting from reality to the place I always feared...

Darkness. My darkness.

It is more scaring and more weakening.

Sometimes when I go there, I feel like I will never come back. My heart would start beating faster and my body would feel cold. What brings all the pain is reminiscing the past. “Oh, so you decided to entertain us now. Well, take your seat and let’s begin.” My mind would start it's now daily job; tormenting me, killing me slowly and painfully.

Insecurities hunt me-

I could feel the edge of her nails dancing against my skin. It made me shiver. She was behind me I could feel her, worse than that, I could hear her. “Do you remember the times when you fell in front of your class? Do you remember how much they were laughing at you? Or how embarrassed you were?” Her voice was menacing and dark, however, I didn't feel anything. “This was something from the past, something that I myself laughed at.” When I didn't give her the reaction she was expecting, she surprised me and laughed. “Someone is acting all tough and strong-which by the way won't help you- but just you wait.”

Lack of self-confidence, self-doubt- “Let’s see this one.” She was walking around me with a slow, steady pace. “Do you remember the time when you were doing a presentation in front of your class and you said the wrong definition of the word ‘sensitive’? I mean, for God's sake, how come you didn’t know the meaning of this word? It is ‘sensitive’, you idiot.” Damn, I remember this one. It was so embarrassing, I saw some people laughing at me. I remember how much I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. “Or that time when you asked your friend a hundred times if you look good when we all knew you look ugly with your big nose and dull face.” I took a few breaths, in and out, and again, in and out. I can't let her get through me. She can't win, not this time. “Oh, wait, or this time... wait let me remember who exactly did it.” She paused, resting her figure on her chin, “Ah, right... Do you remember this time when that teacher—that one that used to hate you—said that you had an awful voice in front of your friends?” She can’t be really that mean, but again, this is my mind. My own flesh we are talking about. “Stop it,” I muttered. “Or wait... wait this one is so funny.” She started smiling wickedly, “do you remember when that guy insulted you in front of everyone?” “Stop it,” I said, louder this time. But she ignored me and continued, looking me in the eye, pure evil dripping out of them. “Seriously, take my advise and try to stop annoying people so you don't get humiliated in front of everyone, they will know that you are just a piece of junk, eventually.” True, all that what she said was true. I have always been that kid that no one loved. I tried to ignore her. I kept quiet and didn't utter a word, too scared of how painful her comeback would be. Humility. Meekness. Timidity. Uncertainty- “You know that you are not important anyway. No one will care about your death. No one will ask. No one will care.” She whispered the last part in my ear, her words ringing through my head. No one will care “I don’t care. Everything is in the past now. I really don’t care about them.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was hard. So hard. Her words cut deep wounds in my heart. “Oh, really, so you are telling me that this one time—when one of your friends left you and went to hang out with the other girls—that this memory doesn’t hurt you right now? Or when your friend picked the other girls to play with her and left you. This one too doesn’t hurt you when you think about it?” I cleared my throat and shrugged, “Y-yes.” She leaned down, her hands grabbing my face harshly with her eyes looking deadly in mine. Nervousness. Hesitancy. Anxiety. Uneasiness. Vulnerability. “This one will destroy you.” I narrowed my eyes at her then, spat on her face. “Go to hell.” She raised an eyebrow, amusement now filling her eyes. Slowly, her lips lifted to a relaxed smile. “Tell me: how are things going with you and your dad?" Oh no. No. No. No. She can't be serious. My senses stopped, my blood ran cold. Everything seemed to just freeze. My face was changing from one expression to another. My heart was beating so fast. How can she do this to me? She knows exactly how sensitive this subject is to me. My breathing became uneven and my walls started to sink. One by one. Memories ran through my mind, all worse than each other. “Do you remember when he said that you are doing nothing but playing when you had spent the night before doing nothing but studying? Do remember how upset you were that night? How can your father treat you like this? Of course, he would. You know why? Because you are a failure. " I shook my head furiously at her words, my hands clenching in fists. She was painfully and easily getting through me. She was killing me slowly. “Or when he was saying that you were faking being tired and sick?” “Damn it! Stop it!” I screamed loudly, begging her to stop. She smirked, “Never.” Worry. Worry about everything that will happen and what already happened. The regret of any action I ever took, even if it was right. “This one time you talked to that guy who you had a crush on. He didn’t like you. You were too skinny. Your personality was shitty for his own liking.” I loved him so much. He was so special to me. How could she do this to me? But again, she was right. He didn’t like me. I knew it. He treated me poorly. “He was just playing with you. You were nothing to him. Nothing.” I smiled sadly at her happy face and nodded my head. My fingers rested on my mouth while my expression changed hastily from a smile to a frown. All these ate me alive. I started feeling the pain in my shaking hand and the unbearable pressure in my throat. “Why are you doing this?” My voice cracking. Slowly, a tear slipped down my face. Her body went stiff and her movement stopped. Her head slowly turning to face me with eyes now full of anger and rage. “Are this seriously asking this question? You are the one who hurt me first. You are the one who tortured me every night. I used to cry every night because of you. You changed a lot, you became so closed off and alone. You hurt me and you know I am not used to being lonely. You killed me every day with your negativity. You made me someone I always feared. Damn you for doing this. I was never like this. I was a cheerful person who cared about nothing and was happy 24/7. You are the reason for everything that changed me. You are the reason for making me hurting you now. I hate you.” And I broke down, tears running down my face while I was sobbing. “I-I am so s-sorry, I didn’t mean for a-any of t-this to happen. I didn’t want to change. Trust me, I didn’t. I want to return back to my normal self. B-but it is hard. So hard. Everything changed. P-people left me, the ones we used to love left and changed. Everything changed to the worse. I know that you are hurt, but I am too. We are one, remember? You can’t just leave me there forever and torture me. I know you’re upset with me, but I will try. I will c-change, but please, don't leave me and go. We are one team, always and forever, remember? I am sorry. So sorry. It is just so hard to be who you want me to be when everything and everyone keeps hurting me.” I was stuttering a lot. I couldn't breathe well. My heart felt like it was coming out of my chest. I looked up at her again. She was looking at me with a broken expression, her eyes for the first time held sympathy. She sighed deeply and started walking until she was in front of me. She kneeled down and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I am sorry too. I got so caught up that I forgot about you and how much you are dealing with. We are one as you say. We will fight together forever. I am so sorry. Will you forgive me?” Her voice was so soft. But I didn't stop myself from crying or even apologizing until I started coughing furiously and tried to inhale some air but I was having difficulty in breathing. “Listen to me! Take a deep breath! Try to inhale and exhale! Stop thinking and just listen to my voice!” She was speaking with a loud, steady voice so I can concentrate on her words. At first, it was hard, but after a few more times, I succeeded and calmed down. “Thank you.” I whispered with a low voice. Suddenly, she disappeared and I couldn’t see her. The black walls that surrounded me started fading away, the small light that was lighting the small black room changed to my lamplight, the walls changed from black to the light blue colour of my room and I was back on my bed, resting my head on the pillow as if nothing happened minutes ago. “Let’s go to sleep.” A voice from somewhere said, but I was too tired to look around. So, I did what I was asked to do. Slowly, I closed my eyes and everything turned black. And finally, I gave myself the rest she needed. “I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.” – Jonathan Safran Foer

#overthinking #anxiety #tired souls #writing #article #please repost

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andrcs · 5 years ago

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hey friends waddup ! i’m jen , just turned 23 ( n am already feelin it ) , from the gmt-2 tmz , n i go by she/her pronouns . i had about , like , half an hour of sleep today n i’m actually redoing this entire intro because as i was editing the finished version to post it , i accidentally deleted the whole thing n tumblr wouldnt let me have it back ! it’s fine i’m fine :-) anywho i’m gonna let yall go n learn a lil more about our friend andre ! hopefully u like him but if u don’t thats ok bc sometimes i don’t either !!

𝐈. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 :

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : andre harris solomon .

𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : n/a .

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 : august fourth , 1991 .

𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 : leo .

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : cco of solo conglomerate .

𝐈𝐈. 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 :

during the solomon’s dynasty , the family had its fair share of tumbles and quite a few scandals . great uncle abel being arrested after trying to steal half his brother’s fortune was one was a big example . may god bless the traitous bastard’s soul . also cousin denzel , declaring in the middle of thanksgiving dinner he wanted to be a opera singer , of all fucking things , and giving grandpa harrison an almost stroke , could be counted . no matter what , though , nothing prepared the family to watch the solomon fortune’s heiress coming home on her christmas break during her freshman year in college with a baby bump and no father to claim the child she carried .

in the following years , with the slightly judgemental help of all of her closest relatives , but most of all , the never ending support of her parents , gaia solomon managed not only to get her college diploma , enter the family business and help solo grow into the biggest media conglomerate of the western hemisphere , one that had a solid hand over pretty much all aspects of media and entertainment . chances are if you wanted to publish or sign a record label deal or be on a tv show , sooner or later you would encounter someone from solo . but she had also manage to raise with the utmost love and care , no lack of sacrifices , and a healthy amount of ear-pulling , a man she can’t help to be most proud of .

andre solomon never knew who his father was , or cared to . and as far as his mother was concerned , he didn’t have a father . as a child , he never felt like he was missing anything in life , there was no angry void aching to be filled , no painful moments to remember his childhood by . he had been happy . no matter how busy his mom was , she was always loving and attentive whenever she was around , played baseball and football and soccer with him whenever he asked her to , and grandpa harrison was always available if the boy ever needed a guy figure in his life . of course , there were some bumps and bruises along the way , and a pinky finger he never fully got the feeling back , but it was a beautiful , fulfilling childhood .

as a teenager , recently acquainted with a never seen before freedom , and just out of puberty , andre grew more acquainted with getting in trouble . thankfully , nothing like cousin gina , who had to cut off a part of her ear after piercing it by herself with her tenth grade friends . while rambunctious and mischievous , he was always to smart to get caught doing something that could get him in any kind of real trouble , and by then , the family knew that they could trust andre to not be too irresponsible , and even if they didn’t , at least he had both ears intact .

a full grown adult , after getting his marketing degree in northwestern university , andre followed his mother’s footsteps and worked hard to climb the organizational ladder and reach the cco position , becoming one of his grandfather’s valued advisors along the way . these days , he works hard to keep his image clean and his professional life very well separated from his private one , being very succesful at it thus far .

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 :

andre can definitely be considered a little bit too cocky in his confidence . he knows his strengths and doesn’t believe in fake humility , always eager to be praised by whatever actions . also very focused , he feels as if he knows exactly what he deserves in all aspects of his life , and doesn’t hesitate to work for it until he’s satisfied .

he is also , however , a very fun loving individual . andre believes in the motto work hard , play hard . and you can definitely find him going on expensive trips to exotic locations or some rich person adventure more often that he’d like to admit . is constantly surrounded by a-list celebrities or clout chasers who attach to him due to his connections into the industry . and as being the center of attention is one of his favorite things , he absolutely adores it .

very , extremely sarcastic and definitely not the most outwardly affectionate person , it takes a lot to get him to soften up , but andre’s also extremely loyal to those he knows are his real friends , and always makes sure that they are with him no matter where he goes and what he gets .

is known to be quite the ladies’ man , and often lives up to the reputation , even though he’s settled down quite happily a few times during his adulthood . he’s not averse to relationships , per say , but also doesnt want to jump in carelessly , specially when he’s not felling the situation . is frequently engaged in some sort of drama with the girls in his life and even though he claims to dislike it , he loves all the attention he gets from them ( ew , i hate him , he’s gross )

𝐈𝐕. 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 :

childhood best friend / chicago native ( 1 / 2 ) : people who’ve known him since before he hit puberty and became cool and who are with him til this very day . they might not be best friends for whatever reason but still are closer than most friendships out there . ( pearl , )

flings / could be past or present : could also range from the silliest to the most angsty stuff , andre definitely has the repertoire for it .

ride or dies ( 2 / 6 ) : truly ride or dies , his closest group of friends , the ppl that are with him no matter where he is and the only people outside his family he’d do whatever for . ( devin , watson )

exes / chicago native ( 2 / 2 ) : i have some ideas about them but lets just say one would have ended in decently good terms and one would not . ( vera , aurora )

friend with interests ( 0 / 2 ) : andre has a lot of ins with the media industry , and this person would definitely have an ulterior motive to hang around him , whether he’s realised it yet or no .

flirtationship ( 1 / 1 ) : first of all i hate that word my GOD but also , would be a kind of thing where they’d both be feeling each other but for some reason things just wouldn’t progress ? ( elissa )

there is a lot more but i’ve just written this thing twice in a row n my brain is currently just 2 neurons barely communicating so i should probably quit while i’m ahead ? but pls message me bc if u want to know some more about andre or come up w plots or just talk about how hot mbj is n how unfair it is that the rpc doesnt gif him nearly enough ? or we could also talk abt something i might be delusional rn so i have a bunch of interesting topics ok bye thanks for sticking around i love uuuu

#░ ▹ 𝙊𝙐𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙀𝙍 / / oh jenny !#wealthyhq:intro #oof this has been a ride ladies n gents #and am i glad to be done with it #also raise ur hand if u have a cousin gina in ur life

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trollhunter94 · 6 years ago

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Close To The Edge

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Others: Sam and Dean, Crowley, Meg Masters and Dick Roman

Warnings: Cannon Divergence, Torture

Words: 2.9K

A/N: Part 6 of the Castiel Soulmate Series. Here’s Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, __ Part 7

Summary: Castiel deals with the thought that you are dead. Meanwhile, the brothers take Crowley to an abandoned warehouse where a certain Demon is waiting, ready to join the fight.

Castiel had been sitting in the same spot for long enough now to see the sun rise. That spark of purpose that willed him to keep on fighting had been savagely ripped away. You were dead. He was certain of it.

He didn’t want to stand up or do anything productive. The emotional pain had buried itself inwards, applying a constant and heavy pressure to his vessel’s organs, making him completely immobile.

He had searched every inch of that burning warehouse for you, or what was left of you. After finding only burned remains of your backpack, he sat down and listened for you, for any presence of your soul. But there was no sign, no inkling that you were still alive in this messed up and forsaken world.

Even though he’d only known you for two days, the connection that he had felt to you was unfamiliar and indescribable. Now that he had seen the course of your life through memory and touched the pureness of your soul, he felt attached to everything about you.

But, you were now gone. Pulled away from his side, never to return. He blamed himself as Dean’s words rang through his mind: “She’s an untrained civilian. Placing her in the centre of this mess, will only get her killed. She’d last two minutes in there, tops”.

Although you lasted more than ten minutes and managed to rig the trucks, Dean was right about one thing. It got you killed. At least, that was what Castiel thought.

Meanwhile, after several hours of driving, the brothers were close to St Louis on their way to Roman HQ, along interstate 70. The boys were currently discussing the decision to let you fight with them.

“I think it’s a good thing” Sam gestured with a shrug of his shoulders. “Cas has been a little off his game lately and”...

“Yeah, and can you blame him?” Dean interrupted, justifying the Angel’s recent behaviour. “He’s been through the grinder this past year. I’d be worried if he wasn’t”. Dean scratched his nose as he listened to Sam’s opinion on the matter.

“I know, but this time he’s not alone, you know? He’s got her to help him”.

“What? Like he didn’t have us?” Dean questioned, feeling a little hurt. Sam was quick to correct himself. “No, I mean in an intimate way, you know. A human companion will maybe help him to see the emotional side and fragile nature of things. Do you know what I mean?”

Dean was silent for a moment as he thought about Castiel’s tendency to jump into situations without a second thought of the human casualty. Whilst he does believe that Cas only has good intentions, a little humility wouldn’t go amiss.

“Yeah. That’s what makes me worry though” he admitted. “What if he does get attached to Y/N and then something happens to her? If she dies, it will break him”.

“Yeah, I see your point”. Sam’s hand ran through his hair as he pondered the many possible situations in which you could become a liability to their mission. If you were kidnapped, that was leverage to be held against Castiel. If you were killed, that would definitely divert his focus on revenge.

At a loss, Sam let out a small sigh, hands rubbing against his knees as he conjured up their only option. “Let’s just hope that he keeps her out of serious danger”.

“Yeah” Dean snorted with pessimism. “Let’s hope”.

As the minutes passed and miles of shrubbery flew by, they eventually arrived at their next destination.

“Turn in here” Sam advised, pointing to the oncoming road on the right. Dean followed his Brother’s request, leading the car down a side-road and up to a warehouse.

Dean switched off the ignition and looked up sceptically through his wind-shield at the old and abandoned building. “This is where you wanted to go? Have you got some kind of property renovation or hobo fetish you’re not telling me about?”

Sam shook his head with closed eyes and a smile, deflecting Dean’s quirky insult. “No. Just came to get a few things. Help me get Crowley out?”

After an unconvinced eye squint from Dean, the boys swiftly stepped out and made their way over to the trunk. Dean popped the hood and a smile plastered his face as Crowley’s sweaty and dishevelled figure was revealed.

Sam, once again, yanked Crowley out without any sensitivity. The King of Hell stumbled onto the gravel before straightening his posture and addressing his captors. “Come on boys. What’s with all the hostility? I thought we were friends”.

Dean scoffed at his statement. “Friends? You tried to kill us, Crowley. Not to mention the conspiring with Cas to open up Purgatory”.

Sam was quick to jump in with the blame game. “This whole mess is your fault”.

“How is it my fault”? he retorted defensively. “Your Angel was the one who swallowed all those Leviathans. All I did was suggest the idea”.

“Exactly!” was all Dean needed to say, grabbing his sleeve and leading him into the warehouse. Sam was quick to find a rickety, wooden chair and placed it in the middle of the room before pulling a spray can out of his bag, giving it a shake.

Plonking Crowley down on the chair, Dean stepped back and pointed a finger at him. “Sit there and be quiet. If I hear so much as a snarky comment, you’ll be gagged for the rest of this journey”. Crowley’s eyes were full of both defiance and reluctant acceptance as he glared harshly at the eldest Winchester.

As Sam drew the trap along the floor, Dean paced the room, taking in the sight of broken windows and dust-covered machines. “What are we even doing here Sammy?”

“It’s just a pit-stop. We’re waiting for someone” he replied as he finished spraying and stood up, wiping his hands on his jacket. “Who?” Dean questioned sceptically, cautious of Sam’s secretiveness.

“A friend” Sam explained. “Trust me”.

“We don’t have any friends” Dean said, trying to think of who Sam had been talking to. Maybe it was another Hunter.

A figure soon appeared in the doorway. “Hello boys” a familiar voice called to them. Dean shot his head round to see Meg standing there. Before he had a chance to react, Crowley voiced his concern. “Hey! That’s my line”.

Dean’s gaze sharply turned to his brother with a cold expression. “Really Sam? Meg? That’s who’s helping us?”

“It’s nice to see you too Dean” she retorted, feeling slightly offended. Here comes the ‘Demons are second class citizens’ bullshit again.

Dean’s lack of tolerance was portrayed by the look on his face as he swivelled back around to face her. “What do you want, Meg? We’re kind of busy here?”

“I come bearing gifts” she said before looking down at the floor with a fake sadness. “But since I’m not welcome here, I’ll just take this Alpha blood with me”. As she held the vial out in front of her, Dean’s eyes instantly widened with intrigue.

“Whoa, whoa. Just hold on a second” he held his hands up defensively. Meg shifted an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry. What was that?”

Dean’s face dropped as he turned and shared a look with Sam. He knew that she wanted an apology, or at least some recognition for helping them. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Thank you for helping us Meg. We really appreciate it”.

She smiled sarcastically at his words before throwing the vial of blood to him. “You know, I’ve got just as much reason to destroy that grade A asshole. Humans aren’t the only ones on Dick’s hit list”.

She reached a hand into her pocket and pulled out the familiar sight of the Colt. “Here’s your gun back” she said, passing it over to Sam. Dean’s eyes followed the Colt with a shocked expression and a pointed finger. “Wh- what, where? How?”

His eyes quickly narrowed at Sam with the feeling of another betrayal. “Excuse us a moment” he said as he grabbed the sleeve of Sam’s jacket and lead him to a corner of the room.

“Dude! What the hell? You gave her the Colt? His voice was raised in anger as his little brother had once again, gone behind his back.

“Dean. She’s on our side. She was willing to kill an Alpha to put Dick down”.

“I couldn’t give a rat’s-ass, Sam. You lied to me, again!”

Sam’s arms flew up in frustration. “This is why I didn’t tell you Dean. Because I knew you wouldn’t even give the idea a chance”.

“Of course I wouldn’t” he admitted, throwing his hands up. “But that’s not the point. It’s the keeping shit from me, like that crap you did with Ruby. We’ve been chasing the Colt for days now and you’ve just sat shotgun this whole time, watching me run around like an idiot. That’s not teamwork, Sam. It’s sabotage”.

Sam took a deep breath, shaking off the harsh reminder of his past. “Look, I’m sorry for not telling you. But we’ve got the rest of the ingredients within our reach now. All we need is Crowley’s blood and Cas’, then we can kill Dick for good”. There was still a look of frustration in Dean’s eyes as Sam pleaded to him.

“Please, Dean. Let Meg help us. We all know that Crowley’s not gonna give it up without a fight”. Dean took a moment to think about it. Sam was right. But he was still pissed about the way he went about it.

“Uh, we’ll talk about this later” he dismissed the argument and held out his hand. “Give it to me”. Sam passed the gun over without hesitation, where Dean snatched it and put it in his waistband before walking back over to Meg.

“So how are you going to convince Mr sunshine and daisies over there to give a blood donation?”

The smile that transfixed Meg’s face was full of evil intent, enacting on some revenge of her own. “Oh, I’ve got certain powers of persuasion. Besides, you boys have made my job easier, seeing as he can't go anywhere”.

Sam walked around the trap, admiring his handy work. "It should hold for now. Let's hope these powers of yours are enough".

A snort of sarcastic denial came from the Demon King. Crowley was resisting the urge to mock, but ultimately failed as the words came falling from his mouth. “It didn’t take much persuasion for you to betray your king, you little whore”.

Both Sam and Dean widened their eyes at his insult. Meg didn’t reply, but walked up to the devil’s trap and slapped Crowley across the face with force. Dean couldn’t help but laugh, this was turning out to be a good day.

Crowley lifted his head back up and licked his bottom lip, looking at Meg with a taunting amusement. “Is that all you’ve got? I knew you were pathetic, clinging on to whoever’s got the best chance of survival. You’re nothing but a parasite, to Humans and Demons alike. Nobody wants you around, you little bitch”.

This seemed to infuriate Meg, causing her to approach Crowley and throw a mighty punch towards his throat. The weight of her swing forced the chair to swing backwards, crashing to the floor. Crowley groaned, rolling on his side amongst the broken pieces of wood.

Meg turned around to see the Brothers reactions, not being disappointed by their faces of shock and admiration. “That was awesome” Dean praised with a wide smile.

“Thanks” she said, before something hit her against the back, gaining her attention. She turned around to face Crowley but was met with a chair leg flying towards her face. And then another.

Refusing to give up, Crowley threw each piece of wood towards the pesky Demon with defiance. She attempted to block the harrowing onslaught but gained a few cuts and splinters to the face. Eventually, her patience wore out.

Stepping forward, she clenched her fist and used her power to send Crowley to his knees.

Crowley was now on the other side of torture. Experiencing the pain of having his internal organs crushed was not what he’d expected. After nothing but groans of pain from across the room, Dean stepped forward to try a different tactic. “Give it up, Crowley. She's not gonna stop”.

“Okay. Okay” he surrendered, holding his hands up with defeat, causing Meg to release her hold on him. “You can have my blood. But you lumberjacks are still missing a key ingredient”.

Dean’s eyes darted to the side and back as Castiel jumped into his thoughts. God, he hoped that you and Cas were okay.

You awoke to the sight of total darkness, face covered by a black hood over your head. An attempt to move your arms made you realise that both your hands and legs had been restrained. Breathing heavy, you turned your head to listen as someone entered the room. No, two people.

The sound of footsteps became overshadowed as they began to converse. “The Sucro-Corp trucks have been destroyed”.

A deeper, yet calmer voice entered the conversation. “How did this happen?”

“It was her, Sir. We found her in the warehouse. She was with the Angel”.

An annoyed groan was short-lived when he laid eyes upon you. “Excellent. Well let’s meet our new guest, shall we?” One of the men walked behind you. Lifting the hood off your head, light suddenly burning your retinas until they began to focus on your surroundings. An office room.

The blurred silhouette in front of you was now visible as the famous Dick Roman, standing smugly and smiling at you.

“Hi there“, he greeted you, crouching down to your eye level. “And what do we have here?” You tugged at your restraints, fearful of what this creature was capable of. “Let me go!” you demanded, hoping that they would see you as just an innocent bystander.

He placed a hand to his chest with fake sympathy. “You know what? I would like nothing more than to send you merrily on your way. But, it seems you’ve been busy destroying my things with that sad excuse of an Angel. Now, I need to know, who else is a part of this little scheme to ruin my plans?”

“I’m… I. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you people, and what the hell am I doing here?” You played on the fact he had no idea who you were. “Let me go, or I will sue your ass”.

“Oh, quite the demanding one, aren’t you?” He smirked before standing up and slowly pacing the floor. “I know you’re playing dumb with me. If you refuse to tell me who else you’re working with, then I’ll just have to pry it out of you by force”.

He stopped pacing and stared at you expectantly, waiting for a confession. At this point, your thoughts had taken over, dreading and debating how this interaction could pan out.

He gave the man who stood behind you, a nod of his head. This prompted the man to move across the room and up to a large cart that was covered by a white, plastic sheet. He gripped the covering and pulled it away to reveal a display of metal tools and instruments.

You watched as Dick strolled over to the selection and picked up a three-pronged fork. You involuntarily swallowed at the sight of the long and sharp weapon. This was not how you expected this adventure to end; being killed by the bad guy.

He approached you again, gently taking hold of one hand, straightening your fingers and placing the fork under three of your fingernails. “Now. I’m going to ask you once, and only once. Who else knows that you and Castiel were in that warehouse?”

You quickly debated your options. You could keep your mouth shut and endure the torture, maybe give some false names or give in and hand over the Winchester brothers. You chose option one, reluctantly.

A prolonged silence forced Dick to follow through on his promise. “Very well. This is most definitely going to hurt”. He pushed on the instrument, forcing the prongs under your fingernails. The pain was excruciating, causing your arm to spasm against the restraint and involuntary screams to fall from your mouth as the sensitive skin was penetrated.

You were not prepared for this level of pain. Your head hit the back of the chair, desperation for relief coursed through you like severe dehydration, reaching out for something to soothe. Your spirit was unconsciously calling for one thing in particular. Castiel.

At that moment, Castiel was standing inside the hotel room from last night. This was the first place he was drawn to, the freshest reminder of you. After lying down on the bed for several minutes, wishing he could turn back time, he stood up and began to pace the room.

He was thinking about how to tell Sam and Dean of this tragic news, when the lights above him began to flicker violently.

His eyes shot upwards at the instant feel of your presence. The way that you were trying to connect to him through pure emotion and willpower created such an energy that his chest began to fill with a feeling of golden warmth.

A weight was gradually lifting off his shoulders, relief now coursing through him. You were alive!

Thanks for reading. Here’s Part 7 .

Tags:

@uselessace @superheavymetalunicorn @sumara62 @eziggyra @spookysculderfiles @doritoevansxwinterschildren @cabbitholeresearch @acheloishe

#castiel x reader #soulmate series #spn reader insert

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hussainshiyam · 4 years ago

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Trash Talk: Its Prevalence and Futility.

Originally Published on the 26th of January 2021

Aaaahh, trash talk or what I call weaponized rhetoric has been around ever since I can remember. Talking trash isn’t just limited to the sporting arena. Friends picking on each other is also a form of trash talking. Depending on the closeness of the relationship in which the trash talking takes place, it can either lead to belly laughs or fisticuffs.

Trash talking has probably been around since human beings started competing with each other, primarily in the sporting arena. The need to outdo the other while also talking trash adds to the drama of sports.

However, these verbal attacks were kept behind closed doors and the public was none the wiser for it. Slowly but surely the public became aware of these verbal barbs thrown at each other, the public’s interest in witnessing those match ups became greater.

Yet, most competitors as well as the organizers had no intention of publicly engaging in trash talking to their opponent. The main reason for the reluctance is that the narrative of sporting events is that it is based on mutual respect, humility, fairness, and meritocracy. The mantra being, “the best man always wins.” Trash talking is antithetical to the image the sports wants to maintain and promote.

Rather than leave the matter up to the athletes to regulate trash talk, the governing bodies made rules that curbed trash talking. These were the “bringing the sport in to disrepute” rules. This meant that a lot of the trash talk is done away from referees and umpires because, were they to be aware of it, there will be some form of punishment. It could be something as simple as a warning or a far more serious one like a suspension along with a hefty fine. It all depended on the severity of the incident.

Retired athletes’ retelling of instances of trash talk are hilarious. The basketball world is full of stories of how great Larry Bird and Michael Jordan are at talking trash. Retired athletes like Kevin Garnett and Reggie Miller tell stories of talking trash to Michael Jordan and how spectacularly it backfires on them as MJ would pull off one incredible move after another making bucket after bucket with them having no reply to it.

Trash talk is primarily used to get in to the head of their opponent and to weaken them psychology. The idea is to have them defeated even before they enter the arena. Just as trash talk could weaken an opponent, it can also energize them and be a motivator. For the overcompetitive person, trash talk is just fuel added to the fire that burns within them. It is undeniable that trash talk adds to the spectacle and generates heavy interest from the public. Who can forget rivalries born out of trash talking? Such as the legendary match ups between Patrick Viera and Roy Keane gave us some of the best moments in football, Michael Jordan’s match up with Isiah Thomas or anyone who says anything about him gets annihilated on the basketball court, and, Babe Ruth and Ty Cobb’s rivalry in baseball.

Trash talk is not just limited to the players, it also happens between coaches. Who can forget the war of words between Arsene Wenger and Jose Mourinho? Jose Mourinho’s ability to talk trash is the stuff of legends. Pep Guardiola admitted in an interview after leaving Barcelona that one of the reasons he left was because he was tired of the back and forth between him and Jose.

For most of a sport’s organizing or regulating body discourages trash talk as it is seen as disrespectful and shows a lack of humility. It is not so with combat sports. Combat sports such as Wrestling (WWE style, not the Olympic one), Boxing and Mixed Martial Arts actively encouraged trash talk. It adds to the spectacle as well as to the drama. Due to the nature of it being one on one as well as the violence involved, trash talk was perfect to wring the audience in to a frenzy.

The first instance of securing a title fight through trash talk and annoyance was Jack Johnson in 1908. It took Johnson 2 years of following the reigning champion Tommy Burns to agree. Even then he did so after the promoters guaranteed to pay him $30,000 win or lose. His constant taunts, attacks through the media, and literally showing up to places where Tommy Burns was were things that were unheard of for a black man to do. Through his action and his skin colour Jack Johnson was immediately cast as the villain and Tommy the hero. In 1908, the racist whites expected their white hero beat the black villain. The fight took place in Australia and Johnson toyed with Burns, delivering punch after punch while laughing and trash talking to Burns. It got so bad that the police intervened and put a stop to the fight.

In doing what he did, Jack Johnson has popularized trash talk and turned it into a tactical advantage. Subsequent fighters have taken trash talking to new and dangerous levels.

Perhaps the most famous trash talker in the world Muhammad Ali admitted that he used the tactics Jack Johnson used to get a title fight with Sonny Liston. Ali’s eloquence and quick wit made him the perfect trash talker. He even turned some of his trash talks in the form of poems. He would show up to Sonny Liston’s and trash talk him, he would show up places where Liston was eating, he would show up to the gym and taunt Liston. He successfully hounded Sonny Liston in to giving him a title shot.

As expected, Ali’s fights generated huge interest from the public and drew large crowds to his fights. He always thought that his very eloquent trash talk was in good faith and spirit. He had somehow convinced himself that the person at whom the trash talk was directed knew that he was putting on a show for the media to gin up curiosity and increase the size of the television audience. He was mistaken. One of those people who never recovered from the hurtful and mean things said at him was Joe Frasier. Even Ali admitted that he regrets some of the things he said. Sadly, Joe Frasier died without getting an apology.

The art of trash talking carries with it a dark underbelly that rears its ugly head from time to time. And when it does, it leaves the sport to claim these are one off occurrences. And they are right. However, it has to be acknowledged that these instances are on the rise.

Because trash talk has no boundaries, has no limits, has no topic that can’t be touched, and definitely no person that is off limits, trash talk has led to fights during press conferences, weigh in’s and during the face off.

It used to be fun to watch the juvenile insults fighters throw at each and we, the audience, saw it as lighthearted banter between opponents. That is not the case with these new age fighters who use trash talking as the means to insult, offend, belittle, and dismiss. These aren’t athletes who derive honour from competing. For them winning is all that matters and they will use any and all methods to achieve that objective.

Perhaps, the greatest trash talker of this generation Conor McGregor has taken trash talking too far according to many. But how can we say he took it too far when there are no rules or limits. Anything regulated by an unwritten understanding between parties cannot hold a participant’s refusal to follow it.

Trash talking has become so bad that a confrontation in which Khabib slapped a team mate of Conor for talking shit about him. Khabib took offence to Artem Lobov insinuating that Khabib faked injuries to get out of fights.

This led to the infamous dolly throwing incident in Brooklyn where Conor and a bunch of his friends attacked the bus Khabib and his team were in. All this because of some trash talk and a slap.

After that incident, it was obvious to all that a fight between Conor and Khabib had to be made. During the promotion of the fight Conor took his trash talking to new levels of disrespect and offensiveness. He labeled Khabib’s father as a coward, called Khabib a mad backwards cunt because he doesn’t drink alcohol.

Khabib is not one to talk much during the buildup. He is on record saying he wouldn’t do any promotional work if he wasn’t contractually obliged to do so.

The fight itself was one of dominance. Conor was out of his depth and he was getting pummeled. Khabib is well known for talking inside the octagon and as he delivered one blow after another, we can hear him say, “let’s talk.” “Let’s talk now.” It was a show of control and domination by a supremely gifted fighter who doesn’t care to trash talk.

After Khabib submitted Conor, he jumped over the octagon and attacked a friend of Conor’s who had been hurling insults at him throughout the fight. The venomous trash talk has finally consumed Khabib.

In the aftermath of the fight, Khabib excoriated those who condoned Conor’s behaviour and allow the disrespect to fester in a sport he saw as one of mutual respect and honour.

Khabib was almost universally condemned for his inability to control his emotions after the match and going after Dillon Danis. It was the most watched pay per view event in UFC history and the scenes after the main event were exactly the kind of scenes the UFV didn’t want to broadcast. And it seemed like trash talk has taken another victim.

Actually, what many thought would happen to the UFC did not happen. Because of who Khabib is and his personality people gave him the benefit of the doubt and blamed the trash talk. It wouldn’t have worked out that way it did had it not been anyone else but Khabib.

Khabib comes from the mountainous region of Dagestan which is part of the Russian federation, and he is a pious Muslim. Because of who he is there was never a second of doubt as to why he did what he did.

Whether anyone realises or not, ever since that incident trash talk has been on the decline. Fighters no longer feel the need to go overboard with the insults. For this, we should all thank Khabib. He has landed a huge blow against this abhorrent and demeaning act of trash talk. To Conor McGregors credit, he did learn the one thing he cannot allow to happen if he were to continue trash talking. That being, one who talks trash cannot be dominated. Losing is acceptable, but getting beat and dominated are unacceptable. To continue to be a trash talker one must know, it is not about losing, it is the manner in which you were beaten.

Trash talking will always be around so long as human beings compete with each other. That is not the concern. The concern is, in what form will it exist. Will it be confined to the context in which it can exist or will it go deeper and deeper into the abyss of human disrespect.

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brynne-lagaao · 8 years ago

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(Fanfic) All That We Are - Chapter Four

Title: All That We Are

Chapter: 4/12

Rating: M

Mirrors: AO3 | FF.NET | Website

Summary: There wasn’t any real need to find out whether or not they were soulmates if they were both sure of the answer. But Yata’s answer was different from Fushimi’s, and that was just another of the dividing points they couldn’t reconcile.

Note: Once again, thank you to my wonderful betas, @dropletons and @candylit for their hard work and for not giving up on me over the course of writing this fic! You guys rock!

A large part of this fic takes place behind the scenes of certain canon events. Whenever it’s material outside of the anime (season one, Missing Kings, and Return of Kings), I’ll try to provide notes stating which materials are referenced. The fic should still stand decently without reading those things, but certain parts will make more sense in context.

One of the things Fushimi learned shortly after taking over the position of commander of the Special Operations Squad was that Scepter 4 had bi-annual conferences with the prime minister's office. It wasn't terribly surprising; despite the fact that the Gold King – and by extension Scepter 4 – maintained autonomy over the country's actual elected leader, the meetings helped to maintain the illusion of unity.

As if the Captain won't just do whatever he pleases anyway...

Well, it was no concern to him in the end, but as third in the line of direct command at Scepter 4, he was apparently expected to attend the conferences when not otherwise engaged, and he hadn't been able to come up with a good enough excuse to satisfy Munakata, so there he was.

I swear that man is a sadist. Fushimi clicked his tongue, moving at a slow pace around the large banquet hall. So far, the combination of the motion and keeping his focus on what work he could manage from his PDA seemed to give the others in the room the impression that he was busy with something important, because he hadn't been approached for any inane small talk since they'd dissolved the conference for this "social break". He hadn't bothered to even make a pass at the food trays that had been set out. There were servers making rounds with fancy-looking drinks, but he'd avoided them as well, wanting to keep the impression that he was engaged with business of some sort and not looking for idle conversation.

Idle was the right word for just about everything here, too. The room was not as opulent as most of Scepter 4's main headquarters, but the walls were lined with the moving wallpapers that were currently in style: in this case, garish red stars circling on sparkling gold background with thin white lines sliding down the frames behind them. The ceiling was vaulted, and the lights appeared to be imitation chandelier - tiny mountings lined with digital "crystals" to give them the appearance of grandeur.

That was Fushimi's impression of the prime minister's office in general: a fake fancy exterior to mask the lack of substance within. These so-called "conferences" really were just a waste of time.

On one side of the room, he could see Munakata talking with the prime minister and several attendants. On another, Awashima seemed to be giving instructions to Akiyama and Benzai, who had been the "escort" for this event – which in Fushimi's opinion was a waste of their time and talent.

As his eyes fell in that direction, he noticed the two of them glancing towards each other; Akiyama gave a small nod and Benzai's lip twitched, as if he wanted to smile but was still in control of his professional appearance.

Something anxious stirred in the pit of his stomach. Don't be stupid. Fushimi clicked his tongue and turned his gaze sharply back to his PDA, deliberately repressing any discomfort. He was still not used to the idea of a soulmate bonding that actually seemed to function, despite all of the hype suggesting that this was closer to the usual experience. But he'd spent enough time around those two to have his doubts squashed, at least as far as their match was concerned. Their partnership was efficient, they seemed to be on unreasonably good terms personally, and there was an air of contentment about them that was almost impossible to ignore. It was unnerving.

Well, not everyone can be on that guy's level, can they? The image of black and white dice over a wicked smirk flickered at the back of his mind.

Whatever mood that hadn't been soured before definitely was now. Fushimi deepened his frown, glancing furtively around the room for anything that would allow for an acceptable exit plan. Despite the airy, temperature-controlled atmosphere, the place felt suddenly stifling and he needed a break of some sort.

There was a small balcony near the back of the room that overlooked the grounds; after a few second's thought, he made his way in that direction. Technically, I won't be leaving the area, so it's not like anyone can complain. It wouldn't be difficult to find him if he was needed for something, anyway.

It was actually warmer outside than it was inside, which was a bit jarring but not too uncomfortable. Summer was just starting to bleed into fall at that point, so there was a hint of crisp chill that lingered despite the warmth from the sun.

The seasonal crossover was always annoying. Fushimi clicked his tongue, moving away from the door and eyeing his surroundings without much real interest. The balcony was large and had an ornate gating around it – solid wood painted white and carved to look like marble. It matched the interior in that sense, though the color scheme was markedly different.

On the corners of the gate's ledge, someone had secured flower pots, and when he caught sight of those, Fushimi momentarily paused, struck by a sudden and vivid memory.

Tiny blue and white blossoms, each contained in a separate bundle.

The sense of seasonal crossover in the air, warm and cool mingling uncomfortably.

Misaki's eyes, bright and sparkling, above a vivid careless grin. "Thanks, Saruhiko!"

How useless. Despite the thought, he moved towards one of the pots, reaching out to idly brush one of the tiny white blossoms with a finger. When mingled with the near purple of the blue flowers, somehow they seemed less of a pure shade than before – more of an off-white.

Then again, maybe it was his own blindness that had made them seem so pure before. Fushimi felt a sudden, irrational surge of something like bitterness and longing rise up within him. Trusting any kind of emotion hadn't ever led to anything worthwhile. Even now, he was still clinging to the memory of Misaki's impossibly wide smile and the way his eyes had shone... It was disgusting. He could summon a rage from Misaki easily. That alone could light a fire in his soul and give him all the gratification he needed.

But still, he felt dissatisfied, somehow – even hollow. If that made any sense.

"You're fond of flowers, Fushimi-kun?" Munakata's voice interjected itself into his silent musing.

Fushimi withdrew his finger immediately, turning to give his boss an irritated look. "I'm not really fond of having people sneak up on me," he responded, ignoring the question.

"My apologies. It was not my intent." Munakata smiled back, unperturbed. He stepped forward, gaze sliding from Fushimi to the flower pot. "This is an attractive combination. Forget-me-not and lily-of-the-valley, if I'm not mistaken."

What does it matter? "I wouldn't know."

"Is that so?" He got another sidelong gaze. "Gardening can be an enriching area for study. You might consider it sometime if you ever feel the urge to expand your field of knowledge." Munakata's eyes returned to the arrangement, a thoughtful sort of look in them. "These two flowers are quite interesting if you consider the meaning behind them, for instance."

There was a pause, as if he were waiting for a response. Fushimi didn't bother to give him one, despite the faint edge of curiosity. Knowing the meaning of a flower was pretty much useless when you got down to it; if it wasn't explained, he didn't lose anything.

Well, if I really wanted to know, I could look it up.

Munakata's smile widened just a tiny bit – Fushimi got the sense he'd just been seen through. After years at Scepter 4, he was starting to get used to the feeling, but it was still kind of irritating. "The forget-me-not is said to be associated with the concept of undying love. A connection that endures over time, and remembrance through parting." Once again, Munakata turned his gaze, this time inclining his head slightly as well. "Given that, I would say it's been aptly named – wouldn't you agree?"

Fushimi clicked his tongue, a little unnerved at the way that casual description seemed to strike home. He deliberately pushed the feeling down. "It would be stupid if they hadn't bothered to match them."

"Indeed." Munakata made a small, amused sound, turning back to the flowers once more. "Lily of the valley, on the other hand, takes its root in the meanings associated with all manner of lilies: purity, chastity, and humility, for instance. But there is one that I find rather intriguing." When he turned again, there was a knowing edge in his gaze. "'The return of happiness'."

That simple pronouncement had Fushimi's skin prickling beneath his work coat. He clicked his tongue again, turning from his boss's keen eyes. "That's pretty arbitrary."

"Perhaps. But then, it is not the flowers themselves that hold meaning." Munakata unexpectedly leaned in, bending forward as if to take in the scent from the bouquet. "It is the humans who encounter them that find and take meaning from such things."

That doesn't make it less arbitrary. Fushimi frowned, intending to say as much, and was brought up short when he turned his gaze back to his boss. With his body bent forward and his head tilted at that angle, it was possible to see the back of Munakata's neck, normally obscured by the high collar of his uniform. There was a bright, flawlessly crafted image imprinted in that stretch of skin: a sleek, burnished red sword. Not like the Sword of Damocles that appeared when he activated his sanctum, but a standard broadsword with an elaborate hilt that was encrusted with dark blue gems.

That kind of unnaturally precise image could only be a soulmate mark.

For a long moment, Fushimi was silent, pinpricks of shock spreading along his skin. Seriously...?

"Is something the matter, Fushimi-kun?" Munakata straightened, and the image of the sword was once again concealed. Their gazes locked, and there was a short beat before he smiled again, shutting his eyes. "Ah. You noticed that... irregularity, did you?"

Fushimi quickly recovered his equilibrium, clicking his tongue in response. "You didn't take a lot of pains to hide it just now."

"No. I did not." Munakata once again opened his eyes, calmly returning Fushimi’s stare. "Though, to be clear, it was not my intention that this should remain hidden, necessarily. More to the point, it is not of significant importance." He reached up to press his glasses higher on his nose, momentarily blocking his eyes from sight. "Merely a distraction."

So you say. It wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together from that much information – and the fact that there was no sign of a regular lover on the side. Not that Fushimi took particular pains to keep tabs on his boss, but Munakata could generally be found at headquarters during all hours of the day unless there was an emergency situation to be dealt with. If he did have a lover, they would have to be incredibly patient – or one of his clansmen.

Somehow, that prospect seemed unlikely. Rather, based on the nature of the mark, Fushimi had a feeling…

He clicked his tongue, pushing that stray suspicion aside, and muttered, “Soulmates really are useless, aren’t they?”

It was meant to be an offhand observation, but Munakata seemed to take it as a conversational opening. “Oh?” His tone was one of keen interest, but surprisingly, the next words out of his mouth were, “As a matter of fact, I agree. However, I must confess to being curious.” His gaze was speculative when Fushimi bothered to meet it again. “What reason do you have for making such a contrary statement, Fushimi-kun?”

He could still see the black and white dice clearly in his head, a memory that had etched itself onto his brain for life, apparently. How depressing. Fushimi deliberately set that aside, crossing his arms and keeping his tone neutral despite the discomfort building in the pit of his stomach. “Nothing that special. There are too many flaws.” Once he’d started on the subject, it was easier to carry it forward, listing the things that came to mind immediately. “The matching system can’t be proved to be anything but completely arbitrary, it blatantly excludes anyone who can’t physically participate, and there’s no way to remove a mark if you find out later that your so-called partner isn’t who you thought they were when you made your hasty decision.” Another little shiver of unpleasant nostalgia wormed its way through his body at that; he deliberately ignored it. “You could end up wearing the brand of someone you loathe until the day one of you dies, all because you couldn’t resist the prospect of fifteen minutes swapping bodily fluids with them in a seedy motel room.”

He paused there just long enough to recover his breath and to confirm that Munakata was still patiently waiting for the rest of his response, and then continued. “Good luck finding someone else if you don’t want whoever you’re stuck with in that case. More than likely, people just stay in unpleasant situations out of fear of being alone.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s a system that might as well be designed for abuse. Those who want to take advantage will, and those who aren’t bright enough to see through it will become victims.”

“I see.” Munakata spoke again once he’d confirmed that Fushimi had finished. “So your objections lie with the way in which the system is utilized by those who are subject to it.” His gaze had a thoughtful edge to it. “Of course, there is no argument to make against the potential of such matches occurring. Indeed, there is evidence to show that your concerns are, in fact, founded in certain cases.” There was a brief pause, and then he smiled again. “However, my objections lie with the interpretation of the term ‘soulmate’.”

It was always difficult to know what to expect with him, but Fushimi still found the edge of confusion that came with those kinds of statements to be slightly disorienting. He frowned in response. “How do you mean?”

“In my observations, it appears that the common practice is to equate the term with ‘life partner’,” Munakata explained, turning to regard the flowers again with calm, thoughtful eyes. “I am not of the opinion that the two are related – at least, not under the terms that seem to result in the so-titled ‘soulmate’ matches.” He reached up again to push his glasses on his nose. “There seems to be a base level of compatibility required for a match to be formed, but no consideration made for the situation, feelings, or personal choice of the participants.” At that he shut his eyes, making a small, amused noise. “Rather a short-sighted system for lifetime partnerships, if one takes into account the varying complications resulting from human thought and emotion.”

Fushimi hadn’t considered that angle – not that he gave soulmates a lot of his time and energy these days other than where they related to his complicated relationship with Misaki. He narrowed his eyes. “You hate this ridiculous system as much as I do, then.”

“No.” Munakata turned again to regard him, with perfect calm. “By my estimation, the system itself is neutral. It is the interpretation of the terms that will lead one astray.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Are you being cryptic for the sake of it?”

“My apologies. Allow me to explain in greater detail.” Munakata shut his eyes again. “Upon being presented with a soulmate match, one is being granted information. The choice of how best to apply the knowledge lies in the hands of the participants.” When he opened his eyes again, the depth of emotion in them was difficult to place. “Regardless of the social narrative, in many cases the wisest course of action may simply be to abandon the match.”

Somehow, the words resonated. Fushimi stared back, feeling like his soul shivered lightly within his body. He couldn’t seem to muster a proper response.

“However, such is not always the case.” The mood seemed to lift; Munakata smiled beatifically, tilting his chin and directing his gaze back to the glass doors leading inside.

When Fushimi followed the gaze, his eyes caught on Akiyama and Benzai engaged in a polite but clearly intent conversation inside the room. Neither was smiling openly, but there was a subtle lean in their posture, as if they were drawn in towards each other. It was simply and casually intimate, without breaking professional conduct in the slightest.

The shiver within him intensified.

“It is not a pair of soulmate marks which results in a functional match,” Munakata continued, a hint of gentle fondness in his tone. “Regardless of how any relationship is formed, it requires constant maintenance and open communication from the participants.” When Fushimi turned to face him again, he offered another cryptic smile. “The rewards, however, are many.”

Something small and restless stirred to life in his stomach, an edge of longing for something that he couldn’t define. It was similar to the bitterness that clung to the back end of his encounters with Misaki – the dissatisfaction that lurked at the outskirts of his thoughts when they fell in that direction. Fushimi clicked his tongue, struggling against the ache in his chest.

He was fine without Misaki’s affection. It was a choice he still considered the best of his options, back then. But in his weaker moments, his thoughts were haunted by that warm smile and those fond, sparkling eyes. By the taste of Misaki’s cooking and the sound of his laughter.

The press of his lips, the warmth of his body, the tentative touch of his fingers on Fushimi’s skin…

Don’t be stupid. Forcibly pushing those thoughts back, Fushimi deepened his frown. “You know – ”

“Captain.” Awashima’s crisp, businesslike voice interrupted him. When he turned, she was standing at the door, her PDA held out in her hand. “I’ve received some intel regarding a Class 5 criminal strain engaged in a hostage situation at the outskirts of Shizume City. I’ll need your authorization before proceeding.”

“My, my.” Munakata turned to step towards her, his eyes going sharp with keen engagement as he did. “It appears that our visitation will have an abrupt end.” As she automatically shifted aside, he moved past her into the hall. “Please begin preparations as you see fit. I shall make our apologies to the prime minister.”

“Yes, sir.” She inclined her head with brusque respect, before looking up sternly. “You too, Fushimi.”

He clicked his tongue, without much feeling. “Got it.”

She tucked away her PDA while waiting for him to move through the doorway and then fell in step beside him. “I’ll need to inform Akiyama and Benzai as well – we’ll prepare the vehicle while waiting for the Captain.”

That was just logical – Fushimi responded with an automatic affirmative before giving her a sidelong glance. “Intel about a strain on the outskirts of Shizume, huh? Whose intel would that be?”

Her return gaze was cool and even, with only a raised eyebrow to mar it. “I won’t waste my breath answering questions you’ve already answered for yourself.” A short sigh came with that. “He and I agreed to trade information when it didn’t interfere with the interests of our clans. It’s been beneficial in a number of ways.”

Beneficial, is it? Fushimi clicked his tongue again, not bothering to reply. Not for the first time, he wondered if she and Kusanagi might have a matching set of marks in some easily hidden place. And like every other time, he immediately dismissed that line of thinking. Not like it matters to me.

It wasn’t like any of it mattered – not her, not Akiyama and Benzai, and not Munakata with his so-called “distraction”. He hadn’t joined Scepter 4 to make friends in the first place.

All the same, that sense of restless discontent continued to plague him.

The Homra bar was closed.

It was past two in the morning so that wasn’t unusual, but it was unusual for the lights to still be on and for there to still be people sitting inside in perfect silence. A fresh haze of cigarette smoke hung over the room, contributed to by the two adults who had gone through who knew how many without even speaking once. The atmosphere was thick and heavy.

Yata wasn’t sure when the others had left. It was just the three of them now – Kusanagi behind the counter, Mikoto on the couch, and he with his elbows resting on the bar, staring at its surface as he tried to make some sense of the emotions that raged stormlike in his head.

Totsuka-san… There was an ache in his chest. In his throat. All through his body. He trembled with it.

After the funeral, his grief had been nearly overpowered by fury, and it had been easy to retain his energy. He was going to find the bastard that had killed Totsuka and beat him to death with his own hands if he could. That rock-solid certainty had kept him going, his mind burning with thoughts of vengeance all through the trek back to Homra from Totsuka’s final resting place.

Now, with no viable actions to take and only the shared grief to keep him company, he couldn’t seem to muster it. Totsuka was gone, and Bar Homra felt unbearably cold, despite the stuffy atmosphere.

Yata swallowed hard. There was weakness settling in his body and soul, his helplessness from the previous night still lingering. For the first time in years, he had felt powerless – unable to save a precious friend even as he held that friend in his own arms. Unable to do anything as Totsuka’s breath left him, his body growing heavy and his eyes dark and sightless. The scent of blood was still sharp and overpowering in his memory, almost choking him even now.

I should’ve gone with him. I could’ve done something. Those thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone – the what-ifs that he couldn’t silence. In front of him, his hands clenched into fists, so tightly that his knuckled ached.

At least it dulled the pain inside of him just a little.

A heavy sigh from the couch cut into his thoughts; Yata lifted his head as Mikoto rose to his feet, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the low table in front of him as he did. “I’m going up,” he said slowly.

Kusanagi nodded. “Check on Anna, will you?” he asked, voice subdued.

“Yeah.” As Mikoto turned, his gaze met Yata’s. He didn’t immediately say anything and it didn’t seem like his expression changed. His steps were heavy and measured as he detoured slightly by the bar. As he was about to pass, he reached out with one large hand and set it on Yata’s head over the beanie. Holding it there for a single, almost comforting beat, he said in an even lower tone, “Get some rest.”

It wasn’t often that Mikoto made gestures like that. Yata turned on his seat to stare after him, reaching up with one hand to tentatively touch the same place that his King just had. Mikoto’s retreating back was wide, his fur-collared jacket giving him a wild edge. He was still every inch the titan that Yata had placed all of his hopes and dreams on when he’d joined Homra.

Still, when their eyes had met just then, there had been something impossibly tired in his hero’s gaze.

In the midst of his grief, he couldn’t help but wonder… If Mikoto really did have a soulmate, where were they? Wouldn’t they rush to his side at a time like this? He’d never seen any trace of this person and their absence was a huge jarring disconnect, especially right then. He still wasn’t sure if they were really there or if it had just been teasing on Totsuka’s –

Ah.

Even just thinking about him in passing had Yata’s eyes stinging, the ache in his body throbbing in response. He swallowed again, lowering his hand and struggling to recover his equilibrium. Totsuka-san…

“We’ll get that bastard for sure, Mikoto-san!” he managed to choke out, drawing up a fervent determination from the very base of his soul. “I won’t stop until I find him, I swear it!”

Mikoto didn’t turn, but he did pause on the stairs – just long enough to rumble back, “Yeah,” before continuing on.

Yata clenched his hands into fists again in his lap. His eyes were burning now, unshed tears gathering around the edges of them and causing his vision to wobble. The anger churning in his belly was like the tiny flame of a match next to the raging inferno of his grief, but it helped to keep him grounded.

“You should do as he says,” Kusanagi told him. He sounded weary as well, but it didn’t seem as if he was planning to head out any time soon. When Yata turned back to face him, he was lighting another cigarette. After he’d finished, he added, “There won’t be much time for breaks from now on. Rest up while you can.” Their eyes met, and a hint of knowing sympathy crossed his features. “You can take the couch downstairs if you’d rather not leave, Yata-chan.”

For a moment, Yata blinked at him, not quite catching up, and then he managed a small nod, hands slackening again as the offer processed. “Ah… thanks.”

Honestly, he hadn’t been home – or slept – since… then. After they’d brought Totsuka’s body to the bar, Kusanagi had told him to wash up and go home, and he’d gone along with it but he hadn’t returned to his apartment at all. He didn’t remember much of the night, only that he’d skated for hours by himself, grief and fury and pain clouding his thoughts as he pushed his body to the limit. He could only recall the sting of the wind on his face, the tears that wouldn’t stop blurring his vision, and the comforting feel of the wheels beneath his feet grinding against the pavement.

The sun had come up and he’d been back at the bar within the hour, finding the doors open and Kusanagi at the counter already. Neither of them had bothered to ask if the other had slept.

“Don’t worry about it.” Kusanagi lifted the cigarette from his lips, one corner of his mouth tilting upward without much feeling. “Just go try and sleep, if you can. I’ll wake you when it’s time, all right?”

There wasn’t much point in asking ‘time for what?’ Yata nodded again, turning on his stool to hop to his feet. He wasn’t the only one focused on revenge right now. When he looked back again, Kusanagi had replaced his cigarette. There were shadows on his face, both ominous and weary all at once.

“Kusanagi-san…” His voice was foggy and hoarse. Yata cleared his throat and tried again. “Aren’t you gonna sleep?”

He got another small smile for that, this time with a hint of fond tolerance. “Don’t worry about me, Yata-chan – I’ve been around long enough to know my limits.” His eyes turned serious. “You should go lie down, at least.”

A million possible responses were fighting for the chance to jump up the back of Yata’s throat. ‘What if I can’t stop picturing it?’ ‘Maybe we could stay up together.’ ‘Are you thinking about what it was like as much as I am?’ ‘Can’t we just talk for a while?’

The one that nearly made it was, ‘I dunno if I wanna be alone.’

It would’ve been lame of him to say it. More than lame – he’d be a burden on Kusanagi. Yata clenched his hands into fists again, swallowing back all of that weakness. He was Yatagarasu, Homra’s vanguard, not some scared little kid. “Yeah, I got it.”

Tomorrow, they’d be turning Shizume City upside down and shaking it to flush out Totsuka’s killer. Homra was out for blood, and he wanted as much of a piece of that as he could get. Yata drew up his fury and determination with all of his remaining energy, letting them fill him and tempering his resolve. “I’ll find that guy, Kusanagi-san,” he declared fiercely. “I won’t let him get away with this!”

Kusanagi nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll be counting on you.” He blew out a puff of smoke, face still shadowed. “Go sleep while you can.”

That was a clear enough dismissal. Yata trudged out of the room, leaving his skateboard at the bar and heading down the stairs leading into the basement.

This was where they’d set up the projector to play back Totsuka’s videos. The lights were off, but with moonlight filtering in through the window in that small brick room, he couldn’t help but see it as he turned at the bottom of the stairs to face the couch. The pale bluish-white light glinted off of the metal parts, causing it to stand out: a shadowed specter in the dark.

It felt as though his chest squeezed inward at the sight. Momentarily struggling for breath, Yata stepped forward, turning automatically when he reached the couch to face the wall where the videos would have been projected.

There weren’t going to be any new ones now. Not videos, or songs, or strange new recipes. No gently teasing smiles. No warm enthusiasm. No more joking around about silly things or talking cheerfully while they cooked together.

“Totsuka-san,” he mumbled under his breath, feeling his eyes sting again. His head was starting to throb now too, as if in counterpart with the ache in his body. Breathing hadn’t become any easier. “Sorry.”

As if that single word unlatched a floodgate within him, there were tears obscuring his vision yet again, fast overflowing and running down his face. Yata allowed his legs to give out, sitting heavily on the firm surface of the couch and letting his head drop, elbows braced on his knees and forehead on his clasped hands. He shut his eyes, tears squeezing out from behind the lids and sliding down his nose.

There was no shutting out the reality. Totsuka was gone.

In that empty, dark room with no one to either burden or confide in, Yata let himself cry openly.

It wasn’t the first time that Fushimi had worked alone after hours, but the melancholy atmosphere in that dark room was new.

Part of that may have been because he hadn’t bothered to turn the light on after returning to headquarters and setting to work. There was something ridiculously melodramatic about sitting alone in the dark with moonlight seeping in through the open window and the glow and hum of his laptop illuminating his immediate surroundings even further. But he could’ve turned the light on – could’ve got up from his seat and done it right then – and he hadn’t. Somehow, being alone in the dark stilled that restless uncertainty within him. The air felt stale, and the lack of presence in the room was calming.

It was ridiculous that he even needed to be calmed – that there were even feelings he needed to quiet in this way – but there was no denying it.

Right at that moment, it helped to focus on practical matters. There was a pile of paperwork that had been steadily growing as Scepter 4 focused on the hunt for Totsuka’s killer, and with the death of the Red King, those conditions were unlikely to improve any time soon.

The death of the Red King. Fushimi’s fingers stilled on the keys. He couldn’t seem to keep the weight of that reality from his thoughts for long.

It shouldn’t have affected him, one way or another. He had always been scared of Suoh Mikoto – even now, that feeling of being suffocated hadn’t vanished when they were near each other. He’d barely been able to look the man in the eye without flinching. And Totsuka Tatara had been a thorn in his side in many ways – always poking in with that unflinching curiosity and his uncanny habit of ferreting out the secrets Fushimi kept locked away from even himself. There was no reason to feel much for the passing of either one.

And yet, he couldn’t forget…

The deep, measured voice: What do you want to do?

The deceptively light tone: Why did you choose this path?

A surge of feelings that were either unfamiliar or simply too troublesome to classify rose up, and Fushimi shut his eyes to block it back. That was a mistake as well – behind his eyelids, he could see the memory of Misaki’s diminutive frame amongst his fellow clansmen, tears streaming openly down his face as he stomped his foot and shook his fist and chanted with all his might.

“Stupid Saru!”

He hadn’t been aware that Misaki had known he was watching until he’d shouted that out.

It was possible he’d just guessed. One of those rare moments of perception that Fushimi had classified with a points system – 100 points – years ago. All the same, his skin had prickled and his stomach had twisted uncomfortably. But he hadn’t looked away, even when Misaki turned and met his gaze with a furious, grief-stricken expression. That look had given him chills, and even if he had the kind of memory that let him forget things, he didn’t think he’d have ever forgotten that.

The restlessness within his body seemed to churn to the surface, but he still had no idea where to direct it. Restless and aimless – those were the words he could use to classify his feelings right then.

There was a gentle step behind him. “Working late, are you, Fushimi-kun?”

Fushimi opened his eyes, not bothering to turn as he made a small sound of acknowledgement. “I could ask you the same.”

“I suppose you could.” Munakata came to a stop next to his chair, falling silent at the same moment. The air was thick between them during that small break, as if all the words they wouldn’t or couldn’t speak were crammed into the empty space. Then he spoke again. “It would be remiss of me if I failed to remind you that there is no obligation to remain, regardless of the work load. Such things can wait, after all.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue half-heartedly, still without looking up from his screen. “It’s less of a pain if I do it now.”

“I see.” The pitch of Munakata’s voice had softened slightly. “Do as you see fit.”

Nothing in the silence that spread between them had cleared; it still stretched out heavily, as if carrying the burden of the things weighing on Fushimi’s mind that he didn’t particularly want to acknowledge. He stared resolutely forward for a moment, unable to properly focus on the words displayed on his screen.

Homra is really over now. He’d felt it coming with Totsuka’s murder – there was no way Mikoto would be able to continue as King without the tapering his presence provided. But this was the first time he’d thought it so clearly, and with such finality.

The Red King was dead, and the Red Clan would dissipate. It was inevitable.

For all that he’d let his resentment brew during his time in Homra, Fushimi didn’t find himself taking any particular pleasure in that notion. Rather, it seemed as though a cold lump had settled in his stomach.

What will you do now, Misaki?

Even just that bit of speculation brought the restlessness back, full force. He could barely breathe around the sudden longing that overtook his brain – a longing whose aim he still couldn’t seem to place.

More out of an attempt to distract himself from those burdensome thoughts than anything, he glanced at Munakata for the first time. His boss stood solemnly at his side, hands clasped behind his back and posture unbent. He was bathed in moonlight, face angled towards the window, and the light reflected from his glasses, making his expression difficult to place. There was no smile on his face.

His sword was notably absent from his belt.

In that moment, Fushimi found his own words from months before returning to him: “You could end up wearing the brand of someone you loathe until the day one of you dies”. Without thinking, he glanced up at the collar of Munakata’s uniform.

From that angle, of course, he couldn’t see whether or not the mark had vanished.

Lowering his gaze again, Fushimi let out a long breath, clicked his tongue, and tried to turn his attention back to the work in front of him.

#k project #sarumi #yata misaki #fushimi saruhiko #fanfic #fanfic:mine

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arjay6311 · 6 years ago

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I come acrosed this, I see we here aren't the only ones to see through the mess she has caused, it was on my list of questions from Quara.

I What impact is Prince Harry and Meghan's baby son Sussex arrival going to make on royal siblings and families? On society in Britain?

Sandra Sylvester, former Former Toyota CRM (1999-2004)Answered 11h ago The thing that people aren’t considering I think about the scandal MM has created, and caused the family tensions isn’t as easy as 1 2 3…patching things up isn’t a matter of a simple compromise. Why?Harry isn’t a prominent nor major royal. However, his wife insists differently. Harry’s affiliation with the royals has a direct effect on the entire family.Harry doesn’t respect the royal family in general. He’s caused humiliation time after time, it was all said he’d outgrow it. Gosh, how much difference it would’ve been has he realized consequences? He feels entitled and free to act childish and yet his actions do have an impact on the major royals. Who are dedicated to their duties and public image.Until MM weaseled her way in Harry’s life there was never this much or this degree of deceit and mockery.William isn’t someone who treats is role as insignificant and irresponsibly portray himself. He doesn’t like MM and it’s not about a simple dislike of something that can be compromised over: it’s her narcissistic characteristics which is WHO she is. She has and always will be the same.William and Kate aren’t going to allow her to ruin their image that is impeccable. Kate is so graceful and genuine. William doesn’t step out of line, he knows what is expected. They aren’t without prejudice. Their existence isn’t guaranteed without proven merit and trust from the British citizens. Reputation is everything. PERIOD!I don’t dislike MM for no reason. She has proven how reckless and immature not to mention devious abc that’s on her. That’s what will always be from her. That’s single handedly has led to respect and trust being lost.I am quite certain the royals realize that there is no PR team that can maintain MM scandals and schemes. It is hard work to keep up with the mess she’s created. They can’t get their ducks in a row. Harry’s not a liar and it shows. He’s terrible at it. MM is a pro. Because of Harry’s naivety he is constantly misspoken and instead of MM fake details, he accidentally tells the truth.People are not that dumb. When things don’t add up and things are seen as deceitful especially when it’s so badly played out, without apology or even attempts to look natural it’s seen as insulting and condescending. Seriously, they are implying they are above all others and really do think us “commoners” will fall for anything as they preclude we lack common sense and proper interpretation of what is perceived, with our own eyes.The constant betrayal and mishaps only fuels the fire and there is so much that Harry and MM have done that is outright lies and proven so. Now add the ridiculous pregnancy concoction. That is by far the oddest and longest pregnancy I’ve EVER seen. Gracious the why factor is inconceivably outrageous. There was no doubt she had fake bumps but WHO DOES THAT? Due to the constant issues that are known to be deceitful makes people pay attention to everything much closer.Her background is telling as was her social media. She will stop at nothing and has zero shame and humility. That’s just her. I’m not being judgmental in a vicious manner I’m just pointing out her personality is what it is. This has created hiccups for everyone who’s has contact with her.William isn’t someone you want as an enemy. He’s going to be King one day, however, not if MM continues as there won’t be a monarchy to be King for.There is no way William and Kate, the Queen, Charles or Phillip will tolerate this continued disgrace bestowed them because of Harry’s mistake. They now know just how bad it really is.There’s little that can be done by way of interacting and associating with Harry and his 2 spares. Interacting with her is a reputation ender. She cannot accept not being the only one getting attention. She creates her personality own attention and intentionally and proudly breaks protocol and thinks looking sloppy and disheveled, on top of unprofessional in her appearance and attire, is directly targeted at the credibility and overall perception of the palace. It’s a down right shame. It’s bringing them to their knees.Hopefully now that she’s not pregnant and putting her in her place isn’t a health issue, she will be quickly banished. Harry won’t be her pawn for long. Not that she cares because her meal ticket is…well…, perhaps REAL. That’s up for debate..,she’s so untrustworthy and YES I do realize how these theories seem bizarre, however, she puts the phrase “Just when I thought I’d heard it all” to a shame. She’s a whole new level of outrageous lies. Really I’m dumbfounded and ashamed for her.She should’ve done everything to make William accept her. She failed. Then insulted his wife. Only her in thinking , and William isn’t someone I would want to “pee off” and he doesn’t like her. He’s got his future to worry about and live up to. He’s not going to allow a simple nobody to destroy that. He will have much say now and it’s unbelievable that I’ve seen so many people criticize the Queen for doing nothing about her. I’m not British. I’m not up to par on how the monarchy is managed but I do know they have to be voted in by the UK voters. Because there is known deceit and it’s continuous means everything is doubted. That equals getting BOO’D while being publicly acknowledged. By a huge majority of the audience. How bad is that? That’s embarrassing. They had to stay after this happened realizing they are not wanted.I’m just trying to point out there is much much more to putting aside their differences. No amount of compromise will change MM. Some things are not resolvable. I truly believe that until the actual separation and divorce happens there cannot be a resolution. I think Harry has realized how unhappy he really is after spending time with Kate. It’s the first tone he’s looked genuinely happy and giddy. It was definitely noticed by all too. I truly think he’s very very fond of his SIL, lol. Beyond adoration . Thankfully he had plenty of time away from MM command to actually recall how she’s ruined him and made him a skeleton of his former self.This is my opinion and personal observations. Based upon facts I’ve seen and know are true, as well as presumptions based upon these factors. I’ve been a victim of a narcissist and I’ll never not be able to spot one again, as I’d certainly NEVER survive another round. The characteristics of a narcissist are present in MM and that’s seen in her everyday actions and disposition. I don’t expect everybody to agree and I respect that. I respectfully agree to disagree. I don’t feel any more entitled to my opinion than I do others. I am not going to change my mind about her and I’ll defend the facts I know, I will not engage in a dispute as I know when things are going south and I see no point in that. Nothing can be gained and I remove myself from the conversation.I’m hoping that this can be respected and I’m not attacked in spite of disliking my perspectives. I do appreciate corrective criticism however.’m seeing we here arn’t the only ones that see through this whole mess.

She hit’s it dead on!!

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